


Space Heater

by FoxyWolfMeerkat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Brief Description of Frostbite, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyWolfMeerkat/pseuds/FoxyWolfMeerkat
Summary: In the aftermath of Haven, Dorian just wants to offer a helping hand.





	Space Heater

Dorian wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky that he was at the edge of camp when Cullen and Cassandra returned with the Herald. It was good, of course, that he’d made it out alive. It was one last fat middle finger to that Elder One. It was also nice to know that his late escape with Sera and Cassandra hadn’t been leaving the man to his death.  
But he was unconscious, all but frozen (how long had he been out in that blizzard?), and injured. Dorian didn’t know enough about healing to say exactly how serious the massive open gash stretching along his lower back was. It didn’t look good, limited as his view was with the elf in Cullen’s arms.  
As the rest of the camp spotted him, the silence changed. The dark and hollow miasma from before was charging. The mage couldn’t put an exact feeling to it, but it was at least brighter, and sharp at its edges.  
The Commander was chased off by the healers as soon as he got the Herald to a cot. He, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana promptly gathered near the center of camp. Regrouping and taking a moment to simply be relieved that they hadn’t lost him. Though it didn’t take terribly long for the bickering to start about what had to happen next.  
As they got started, Dorian took the chance to slip through the healers. They didn’t seem pleased when they initially spotted him, but he offered himself as a spare source of heat and they let his presence go. Having command over fire didn’t always help much in this Maker-be-damned weather, but he was willing to try if it meant helping. He didn’t even question it when his hand was placed over a frostbitten ear (it was better than looking at it, red at best and a shade or two too dark the further out the cartilage went) and he was instructed to slowly heat it back up. Nor did he complain or roll his eyes when he was tasked with heating water.  
Just one more mage tasked with assisting.

As he worked (it wasn’t terribly demanding work once he got a rhythm), Dorian thought back to his brief time at Haven. The Herald had been surprised he wanted to stay, but then he’d taken it on himself to find a comfortable place for him in the village and introduced him to everyone who hadn’t been at Redcliff, even gave him a tour.  
When the Herald asked about his life and Tevinter, he’d been respectful and good-natured. He’d also asked for clarification and details and had the slightest forward lean and this tiny smile on his cute face as he listened.  
Apparently that was all normal for him though, of course. Hanhari was just like that. Friendly and sweet.  
He also had a pleasant voice and riveting eyes…  
The Herald of Andraste was an attractive person. If he was anything, he was too considerate for his own good.  
For the Inquisition however it was an incredibly important trait. So long as they weren’t crushed underfoot they’d be regarded well by history.  
Maybe.  
Never let it be said that Thedas treated it’s heroes kindly and the Herald being tied in with a hero that’s best remembered for being betrayed by their husband, set on fire, and ultimately stabbed to death did not bode well for him. Conversely, so far he’d survived: One Breach-opening explosion, trying to seal said Breach without help, a war zone, being thrown through time, successfully closing aforementioned Breach with help, the siege on Haven, whatever caused that gash the healers were closing up, meeting whatever-in-the-Void the Elder One is, an avalanche, and being strained alone and injured in a massive blizzard.

Will wonders never cease?

Even with magic, it seemed that gash would be leaving an ugly scar. Hopefully it’d remind the man he was still mortal.  
With that healed however, they took the chance to get the Herald into warmer, undamaged armor. Dorian was happy to wait and try and get his hands warmed back up. Tucking them under his armpits, he yawned as he felt the frantic and terrifying evening catching up with him. Dorian kept his focus on his hands when Mother Giselle sat on the opposite side of the Herald’s cot.  
The only sound for the next little while was from the Herald’s breathing, Dorian rubbing his hands together, and the bickering just outside. Once Dorian had warmed his own up, he reached for one of Hanhari’s hands to give it the same treatment. Just in case the gloves they’d put on him weren’t doing the trick of course.  
“I don’t know what you think you stand to gain here.”  
The woman’s stern voice made him lean back smoothly before reaching his goal. The shot of ice it’d sent into his stomach was hopefully not externally apparent. He cleared his throat tersely, “Pardon?”  
“The Herald is a good man, but I do not know if he has a good sense for people. Many wonder why a Tevinter mage would desire to help our cause.” Her voice was patient, her hands laying in her lap.  
Dorian took a deep breath and steeled himself, looking out into the night. “You talk as though this wouldn’t effect me if I wasn’t here.”  
“Is that all?” She wasn’t looking at him either, the lack of the uncomfortable prickling on his right side told him that much. It didn’t stop the warping feeling in his gut however.  
“And if it wasn’t? If I had something to prove?”  
“Is this the best way to prove it?”  
Dorian pressed his lips together tightly. “I can think of nowhere better.” His face felt like stone as he rushed into what he’d wanted to do before. Damn what the woman thought. He was here to help, to show that Tevinter was more than the South’s nasty rumors.  
His heart just about stopped cold when the little hand squeezed his. Mercifully he didn’t think the Chantry woman saw the way his brows jumped, and Hanhari’s eyes were still closed.  
“Mmm…. Elam'ar dinem?” The elf groaned quietly, eyes dragging open unwillingly.  
“I don’t speak Elvish I’m afraid. I doubt our dear Mother Giselle does either.”  
Giselle immediately put on her ‘motherly’ voice, “You need to-”  
“Elvhen, not Elvish sathan?”  
Sathan… Sathan… Right, please.  
“Of course Herald.” Dorian wondered how long he could keep from moving his hand. The elf had yet to draw attention to their linked hands, and Dorian would rather he didn’t.  
“Herald,” Mother Giselle softly asserted herself again, “you need rest. You’ve endured much.”  
“I am resting,” his eyes drifted closed again without ever looking to the woman to his right. “Just needed to be sure I had been found by Cullen and not Falon'Din.”  
“Who?” The woman tilted her head at the exhausted elf.  
“Falon'Din is one of the Creators. Guide of the Dead.”  
“I thought you believed in the Maker?”  
“I do.” Despite his body having the consistency of overcooked pasta for the most part, his confirmation was quietly jubilant.  
Something about the tone brought a little of the warmth back to Dorian’s chest. “You must upset everyone with beliefs like those.”  
“Elas te'rahn. I haven’t actually held them openly for a long time.”  
“I’m quite glad for you then. Anyhow, I just came around to be sure my services as a necromancer weren’t needed,” he placed the elf’s marked hand back on his chest, “but it seems Andraste worked yet another miracle on you.”  
The man gave a weak chuckle, just slightly shaking his head.  
Dorian tutted at the movement, “Rest more, argue against the wild tales less.” Dorian got a tired hum in response, which was enough for him to feel comfortable walking away.

**Author's Note:**

> Can also be found on my writing Tumblr, here:  
> http://sparemyocs.tumblr.com/post/164275508171/space-heater


End file.
